The Phantom's daughter
by totalphangirl
Summary: The phantom becomes a father following the strange events of Christine and Roua... Roue... Raouel... whats-his-names wedding. Hmmm... Following my Sweeney Todd fanfic it seems like I'm obsessed with daddy-daughterness... please read, this is my favorite movie/ musical of all time, dis shoulda happened INSTEAD OF LOVE NEVER DIES! GOD I HATE THAT SEQUEL! Enjoy! (thank you!)
1. Crash the wedding

Christine Daae stood awkwardly in her large white wedding gown. Meg Giry skipped along ahead of her in her blue bridesmaids' dress, clutching a posy of forget-me-nots to her chest. Little would anyone guess by her face that she was mourning for her recently deceased mother. Picking the thorns from her bouquet of roses, Christine pondered outside the church doors, glassy tears glistening in her eyes. Oh, if only her father was here to give her away! She hastily wiped them away as the organ music started; she did not want Raoul to think her unhappy. As soon as the large oak doors opened, Christine felt a warm rush of relief. There was her fiancé, smiling reassuringly at her with his sweet blue eyes. She blushed and grinned like a little child, staring down at her outsized embroidered white corset. Relatives, mainly from Raoul's side were turning and smiling, mingled with the young ballet girls Christine had invited. The youngest, Rosie, who was five, waved enthusiastically at her, only broadening her grin. The guests were not enough to distract her from the loud organ music; it sounded far too solemn for a wedding. She gave a hasty glance towards the organist, his face turned away, absorbed in the music. Soon the guests noticed it too, shooting irritated looks at the corner of the church. Christine began to rush down the aisle which was a mistake in her dress. As she stumbled a little, the flower girls rushed over to assist her and in her small moment of embarrassment forgot about the organist. As she approached Raoul he offered her his hand, mouthing 'are you alright?' she jerked a bashful smile onto her face as the priest began the service.

Halfway through, the ever-increasing noise of the organ was too much for the people too ignore. The organist slammed his fingers down on the keys, drowning the words of the priest and making the floor rumble. Christine's heart began to thud loudly as her hand shot out for support from Raoul. He gently pushed the gold diamond ring onto her thin pale finger, only making the music louder. What was going on? The sound coming from the large instrument was tuneless and ugly. A rush of sour realization struck Christine. Don Juan Triumphant! She snapped her head back to Raoul, tenderly pushed the ring onto his finger and started an uproar from the musician. The sound was deafening. The crowd clapped their hands over their ears, jostling over one another as the floor began to shake. Some of the younger girls were crying, too small to force their way down the pews. All of a sudden a large hunk of ceiling crashed down into the church, between Raoul and Christine. The church was hysterical. Rubble cascaded down as the ceiling caved in, just like the night of the chandelier crash. Christine was trying to find her husband through the wall of debris, but allowed herself a quick glance at the organist. His head snapped to face her as she screamed, with all the blood-curdling fear that was in her, burning her eyes, shooting down her neck, making her whole body shake like an autumn leaf. The Phantom. Unmasked. Staring back at her with cold, heartless eyes. The horror of seeing his haunted face: his deep set eyes, his protruding cheekbone, the inward flaky hole of a nose, the bloody gutter-like crevasses of his skin and his excuse for mouth was more than the girl could take. The ghostly figure moved towards her, unshaken by the dying church. "NO!" Christine screamed, and fainted.


	2. where is Meg Giry?

45 minutes later

Christine awoke, lying outside the church. Raoul was leaning over her, anxious, fear flickering in his blue eyes. His face warmed with relief when Christine stirred, opening her eyes. She sat up immediately. "Are you alright?! Are you hurt? What happened? Is he gone? How is everybody? Are they safe?" Raoul gently lay her back down again. She had been resting on his jacket. Raoul looked terrible: his hair was a mess, he was drenched in rubble and dust, his jacket was torn and his lip bleeding.

"Try not to move," he ordered gently. "You've hurt yourself." Only then did Christine realize a red, ribbon-like scar circling her white upper-arm. She hissed in pain and moved her eyes down towards her hand, adorned with a shining wedding ring. Her lip trembled, her chestnut eyes brimmed with tears and she looked at her husband.  
"Raoul I… I'm sorry! This was supposed to be our special day it was…" she covered her face with her hands, her shoulders jerking, tears threading through her fingers. Raoul pushed her face into his shoulder, wrapped his arms around her tenderly (only keeping his hands away from her sore arm,) and rubbed circles into her back. Her curled dark hair gathered at his fingers and she looked over his shoulder with her blurred vision. Rosie was sitting, trembling on the church's stone steps, a large gash on her small cheek. All the other guests were gathered round, downward creases on their white, drawn faces. They shot glances at one another, shifting awkwardly as the gray clouds gathered overhead. "Where's Meg?" Christine asked, her voice sharp and urgent. Any emotion from her face was drained as she snatched herself away from Raoul. "Where is she?" Raoul looked nervously at the ground. All of a sudden two police officers came around the side of the building, their heads bowed. Raoul gave then a curt nod.

"No sign of her?" he asked, his voice breaking. They shook their heads slowly.

"No," Christine whispered. "NO!" she screamed. "Meg can't be gone, she can't be!" Raoul wrapped a firm arm around her waist, turning his face to look at her.

"I'll make sure they find her," he said and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. Christine was shaking, her face buried in his chest, as one of the policemen stepped forward.

"We'll keep looking for Meg Giry," he murmured. "But in the meantime, this is all we found," he passed it to Raoul. In his gloved hand was a white, porcelain mask. . .


	3. Blood on her hands

Two years later

Meg Giry.

Meg Giry's pretty white face.

Meg Giry's dead, glassy eyes.

Meg Giry's bloodstained sheets.

Meg Giry's parted lips.

Meg Giry's creation, very much alive.

Meg Giry's dead body, lying spread-eagled on a red-velvet, swan shaped bed.

Erik.

Erik with his head in his hands.

Erik stricken with guilt.

Erik stricken with hate.

Erik thinks: Why didn't I get someone to help?

The Baby.

The Baby wriggling between it's mothers legs.

The Baby pink and newborn.

The Baby crying out for it's father.

The Baby. Meg Giry. Erik. One life has ended, another life has started.

Erik heaved his breath in and out. Meg Giry was the love of his life. Meg Giry was killed giving birth to their child. Stuck down in the lair, with no-one to help, paranoid of letting anyone in, paranoid of letting Meg out. He heavily lifted himself from his seat by the lake and walked over to the bed. His eyes stung to see her dead body and he broke out into a series of choked, heartbroken sobs. he had not yet acknowledged his newborn child, still wriggling there, covered in blood. Blood on it's face, blood on it's body, blood on it's hands. Erik's daughter had blood on her hands when she was only a few seconds old. Through Erik's swollen, weeping eyes she was a murderer. She had killed her mother. He leaned over and kissed Meg's cold, white forehead, tears sliding down his cheeks and onto her face. Erik wasn't thinking straight. He seized his daughter by her ankles and gripped her legs until her crying increased. It felt good to hurt this child, a child he did not care for, a child he did not love. He seized hold of a shard of mirror and began to hack away at the cord that connected the child to it's mother. She sobbed as he sawed through the umbilical cord and he detached them. Detached them forever. The thing he held in his arms was a monster. He stared at it with hate and malice, and made up the stairs with it. He knew what he was going to do.

Opposite the Sienne, a hooded figure walked down the dark cobbled streets with a small bundle underneath his cloak. He paused outside the Vicont De Changey's house. A smile jerked onto his face. He had heard about how the unfortunate couple had been unlucky in having children. The man lay down the bundle on the doorstep, knocked on the door, and left.

It was the Vicomt who answered. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes angry, but the minute he saw the infant it softened and a smile crept onto his face. "Hello!" he picked up the child and she nuzzled her face into his chest, glad to be held. "You poor thing!" His wife Christine came into the doorway and gasped when she saw the baby.

"She's so young! She must be a newborn!" she exclaimed. "Who would leave such a vulnerable child out here in the cold?"

"A poor family I would think; someone who can't pay to feed her." He turned and smiled at his wife. "We'll raise her Christine. We'll raise her as our own." The old Christine returned and her face was flushed with a warm joy. Little did she know that the man who left the child at the door was the same man who'd caused the red scar to circle her arm.


	4. such a pretty thing

Five years later

Clarette De Changey was a very pretty girl. When her mother sang and she sat cuddled up next to her father, people would often comment: What a pretty little thing! When she stepped out of the carriage people would say: she's a pretty one, isn't she? And that was an accurate judgment; Clarette De Changey was a very pretty girl. Clarette De Changey was pale, with golden hair and blue eyes. Many thought the five-year-old took after her father. Raoul would nod and smile; it was only he and his wife who knew she was not blood related. They had kept the early stages of her life shrouded in mystery in a desperate attempt to protect her. Her mother had begun to notice some disturbing changes about her appearance. Fortunately, the child did not take after her real father, but elements of her real mother shone through, worrying Christine. As their daughter sat cross-legged, playing with her doll, Christine suddenly tugged on the sleeve of Raoul's jacket. "Look at her! Who does that remind you of!" she hissed. Raoul was slightly bewildered; having not known Meg in her youth like Christine had. "Meg! She looks like Meg! Darling, do you think that maybe…" the couple turned slowly to the child, who was still sitting innocently. Raoul snapped his head out of the thought.

"Of course not dear," he pulled Christine into a hug. "You remember don't you… Meg… she's gone," he mumbled into her hair. Sometimes Raoul forgot how young Christine was. When they got married she was sixteen years old. When Clarette was placed on their doorstep she was merely eighteen. He sometimes forgot how scared and vulnerable she felt, how innocent she was, a humble little chorus girl who was shoved into the spotlight and noticed by an evil and lustful man. He shuddered and pushed the thought deep into the back of his mind; the couple seldom spoke of the days before Clarette. Clarette was like a burst of life in their lives. Clarette was their world. The couple would have been horrified to know that another man loved Clarette. A man who had been watching the child since the moment she was left on the Changey's doorstep. A man who had seen her sleep, seen her dance, heard her sing. More often than not, people would think it strange that Clarette's passion was dancing and not singing like her mother. She had joined the posse of ballet girls at the Opera Populaire, the younger girls who hardly ever made it to a real performance and sat twittering in their large dresses, tripping over their feet and struggling to tie their shoes. The eldest was a twelve-year-old named Rosie.

"I don't want to dance with Rosie today," Clarette whispered. "Her face is scary." Christine gulped back something sour, remembering the day of the wedding.

"It's only a scar, Clarette," she reassured in her soft voice. Christine was still thinking about her daughter's real inheritance. Could this really be Meg Giry's child? It would have chilled the woman to the bone knowing that the child's real father was lurking in the shadows in his white porcelain mask.

"Today will be the day," he spoke, softly and sharply at the same time. "My daughter is coming home to live with me."


	5. Clarette's lullaby

Two hours later

Christine was sitting in her majestic dressing room, breathing in the scent of flowers and perfume. The question on her mind still bothered her. She was performing tonight, and her husband and daughter would be in the crowd. She wondered if it was cruel to keep such a secret from their only child; as she grew older she would ask questions, only to be lied to by Raoul and Christine. She dragged the powder puff down her swan-like neck, pausing momentarily. Because Meg was missing, it did not necessarily mean her dead, did it? "I wonder," she whispered. All of a sudden she felt her hand reach out for the top drawer of her chest. Her thin fingers rifled through papers and photographs quickly. She found at the bottom, a black and white print picture of Meg and Christine as children. Meg had one arm wrapped around her friend and was smiling at the man at the camera, her teeth bared, her eyes wide, the only real emotion displayed being the love of her friend. A tear escaped from Christine's eye, cutting a straight mark through her recently applied powder. She still smiled fondly at the picture, drawing it closer to her eyes until Meg's face blurred into hundreds of faded yellowing dots. Christine was standing next to her, gawkish and self-conscious in her dress. She had her hands tucked neatly together and the smile did not stretch to her teeth. Meg. Christine. Chalk and Cheese. Christine knew all too well that there were plenty of fair haired women with blue eyes in the world, but there was something about Meg in that picture: the way her chin pointed, the way her nose was shaped, the way she stood still; all reminded her of her daughter. She held the photograph close to her chest, pondering. Her child looked like Meg Giry. Her child danced like Meg Giry. Her child acted like Meg Giry. Christine decided she would show the picture to her husband that night.

In box five Clarette and Raoul were waiting for the show to start. The refurbished Opera House had swapped the erotic golden statues with modest angels. Clarette loved the angel statues; their flowing robes and auburn hair, their rounded chins and large eyes. When her mother sang she would sit back with the bliss of it, imagining herself flying through the opera house like an angel, weaving her way through different snippets of life. She enjoyed seeing the tops of bare heads or bonnets and hats. During the intermission when the ladies bustled around in their silk dresses she would choose the outfit she liked best, accessorizing it with various gloves and necklaces from assorted theatre folk. The biggest pleasure of the night, though, was hearing her mother sing. She could feel the excitement of a fortissimo, the solemnness of a pianissimo, and the strong, confident mezzo forte. She would hear the notes and dynamics jump as her mother wove them together with her soothing, sweet soprano voice. The music flowed through her and all she wanted to feel was her feet tapping in rhythmic time, her body bending and twisting and altering to the music as her mother's voice did. Clarette closed her eyes when the performance started, absorbing the music and choreographing a whole dance routine in her head. It made her heart feel warm and full; she was a part of this music, a part of this voice, a part of her mother.

Raoul on the other hand, was worrying, although he loved hearing his wife sing. He was beginning to think that what she had said was true; she knew more about Meg Giry than he did. Not once during her whole life had he felt disconnected to Clarette. It was like looking in the mirror; he would look at his daughter and see his own golden hair, warm blue eyes and soft full lips smiling back at him. When Christine and Clarette were compared, he saw next to no resemblance. They had a different face shape, chin and nose. He'd often blame this on her age: 'the girl is only five, give her a few more years and she'll look the spitting image!' When she was a baby it was easier; all babies have round faces and button noses. What if people started noticing? He shook his head. He was being silly. Clarette would always be his daughter, no matter what. He wouldn't let something as irrelevant as blood get in the way.

Halfway through the performance Clarette began to fidget. Raoul found this odd as she was always fully enwrapped in the music. 'Do you need the toilet?' he whispered.

'I think so Papa,' she squeaked.

'Shall I take you,'

'No!'

'Are you sure?' Clarette had a moment of doubt. The Opera Populaire was very large, and some of the older girls like Rosie said it was haunted.

'No, I come here every day Papa.' It would be humiliating to have to take her father with her to the ladies' room. Besides, he wouldn't be allowed in. 'I know where I'm going.' She wriggled between the two seats, opened the door and pattered down the large entrance stairway. It was quieter outside. And colder. _'Think of me, think of me fondly,'_ she sang quietly to herself. Whenever she was nervous her mother would sing this song to her. Her voice was croaky and unsure in the deserted stairwell. She passed another corridor, showing the directions. She did not see 'la toilette' anywhere. 'Ooh!' she moaned, her hands between her legs. She briefly remembered someone saying that it was crude to leave such signs out to the high-class public. She would simply have to find a toilet that the chorus girls and actors would use. _'When we've said goodbye,_' she was bursting by now. She stopped outside a large door saying 'Pas d'entre!' 'No Entry!' in spite of this she flung the door open, hoping it would lead her through a shortcut backstage. As soon as she did a foul stench emerged, making the air heavy and sour. She coughed, waving her hand to try and waft the smell away. As soon as she stepped inside she regretted it. The heavy door slammed shut behind her, starting an unnerving chain of echoes to fill the large, empty room. Clarette gasped. This had been a ballroom of some type. There were large marble arches, a tiled floor and a grand staircase with nude golden statues dotting it. The foul stench became apparent; everything was covered in black tar, like there had been a great fire. The statues had melted down to just above the waistline, the arches were crumbling and black and the tiles were smashed, exposing to naked plaster underneath. On the stairwell was a heap of rubble, where someone had attempted to sweep up the mess. The smell was damp and disgusting and caught in Clarette's throat. She coughed again, almost crying. She was lost, alone, scared, and trapped in a dark, stinking room. On top of that she needed to pee. _'Remember me, once in a while, please promise me you'll try!'_ she found the once eerie echo rather comforting, each faded installment sounding less like her and more like her mother. She fell to her knees, feeling suddenly woozy and unaware of herself. Perhaps it was the smell, the dark or how tired she felt, but she was only seldom aware that she got a reply. _'When you find, that once again you long, to take your heart back and be free, if you ever find a moment, spare a thought!'_

_'For me.'_ Clarette mumbled along to the song so well-known and comforting that it was like a lullaby. The man's voice was loud and prominent, but with a comforting, soft edge to it. Clarette did not know that she was being possessed.

_'I thought of, Clarette my only child, the only memory of her…'_ the man sang, keeping with in the tune and tempo. It made the girl shudder and the song was less comforting. She knew the melody inside-out, and having the lyrics changed didn't feel right. She could sense the use of her name. _'… you are no_ _longer, the infant; years, a, go, you, were…'_ She waited for the soothing wave of the next line, but it never came. Clarette had fallen into a deep sleep. 'Clarette…' the man whispered. All of a sudden he was right beside her. He moved a piece of hair out of her eyes. 'So much like her…' he gently cupped a hand under her head and another slid beneath her knees. He slowly lifted the child up to his chest, so innocent in her blue dress and little white socks. Gripping the corner of his cloak he threw it over the sleeping child, and the two seemed to dissolve into the musty air of the dead ballroom…


	6. the blue ribbon

Halfway through the performance, Raoul began to worry. Clarette had been gone for over half an hour in a place that she seemingly knew her way around. He drummed his fingers on the side of his chair and rolled his head back. All rumors about The Phantom had been put at rest when a skeleton was found in the underground lair, lying on the swan-shaped bed; Raoul did not worry about that. He worried about the strange men that lingered around the Opera House, men like Joseph Bouquet. Ten minutes later, when the crowd erupted with applause, Raoul stood up in a determined manner, turned, and pushed his way out of box five.

'God above,' he mumbled when he caught the stench of the ballroom. For a man who used to support the theatre he was exceedingly bad at finding his way around it. 'Clarette,' he whispered softly. He turned a corner into the backstage hub-bub and attempted to force his way through the crowds. Older ballet girls were smoking and flirting, scantily clad in the slave outfits for _'Hannibal.'_ A young girl was sitting on Andre's knee and whispering in his ear. His face flushed an embarrassed red when he saw Raoul approach.

'Vicomt!' he exclaimed, hastily picking himself up. Raoul was too anxious to notice.

'A pleasure Andre. Erm… I was wondering, could you help? My daughter… Clarette, little ballet girl, about this high…' His words tumbled out, one on top of the other as he measured a small height with his hands. '… She left the theatre to go to the… anyway, I can't find her, have you seen her?' Andre looked up at him, startled.

'A little girl? No, I'm afraid not.' He paused. 'Although, if she's a chorus girl she might have stopped to talk to her friends, the children are performing tonight. If you just turn left here and then…'

'Thank you!' Raoul sprinted past him, dodging dressers and actors in his path. The possibility had calmed him down a little but his heart was still thudding and he had an awful underlying feeling that something wasn't right. 'Clarette!' he called again. It came out a lot higher than he had intended. The stress was evident in his voice. Sweat multiplied and prickled his forehead. 'Clarette!' All of a sudden a posse of young ballet girls rounded the corner. Their ages differed from about seven to twelve. The eldest had an ugly scar on her face. 'Ladies!' Raoul blurted, and the girls stopped twittering, frightened. He realized that may not have been the best approach. 'Girls I was just wondering, who knows Clarette?'

'I do.' The eldest stepped forward. Her face was pale and her eyes dark and dull, like they had once bore happiness that was suddenly taken away from them. 'Clarette. Christine's daughter, isn't she?' the girl folded her arms across her chest.

'Yes dear, that's right. Have you seen her?' Raoul felt unnerved by this young girl.

'He's got her.' The three sharp words stabbed Raoul, who stepped forward until he was nose to nose with her.

'Who?!' he spat. Through his narrowed eyes he noticed the girl. 'Rosie!' Rosie began to shake uncontrollably.

'I… he… The… The opera ghost! Don't you _see?!' _She broke down into tears suddenly; heartbroken sobs that startled the three girls and Raoul.

'Rosie, what… what's the matter?' he asked. One of the girls had knelt down next to her and was stroking her hair.

'Sorry Monsieur,' she said in her full, eight-year-old voice. 'She always tells ghost stories; she's only trying to scare you,' the girl smiled up at him, revealing the absence of her two front teeth.

'Wha-' Raoul was extremely confused. He knelt down next to her and attempted to look at her face. The dark, traumatized eyes did not belong to Rosie.

'He's here!' Rosie screeched, and darted off. Not keen on wasting more time, Raoul skirted past the girls and began to run wildly through the maze of the Opera House. With each thud of his panic-stricken heart he thought of all the awful things that could have happened to her.

'Clarette!' He called on last time. He was thinking of Rosie. What had happened to her? She looked strange, lifeless, almost… possessed. Was Rosie the Phantom's new victim? Raoul pushed the thought out of his mind. He was being silly; The Phantom was dead. 'Clarette, it's Papa, where _are _you?' Suddenly a chill rushed over him, an unexplained urge. It was not his decision, it was his instinct that told him to cock his head to one side and note the door that was off limits. 'Clarette, are you in here?' He took a deep breath and swung the door to the ballroom open. A disgusting smell erupted from it, causing him to cough and splutter. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it to his mouth. 'Clarette darling, Papa's worried please come out!' Standing on the spot where Clarette had lay, Raoul noticed something on the floor next to his foot. It was a blue ribbon, the kind Clarette and the chorus girls used to put their hair in buns or tight plaits. He stooped over and picked it up, threading the ribbon through his fingers. Was she playing? He walked over to the staircase to check she wasn't lurking behind one of the statues or hiding underneath one of the arches. Smartly dodging the pile of rubble, Raoul stood at the top of the staircase to scan the room. He was shaking. Not just with worry, but with the memories that the room left behind. Clarette wouldn't leave him; she would _not_ hide or do anything dangerous. This piece of information had been gnawing away at him and he had avoided its cold, cold confrontation. Clarette was in danger. She wasn't playing. She wasn't hiding. Someone had her. Someone Raoul knew… and feared.


	7. Down Once More!

The Phantom had carried Clarette all the way down to his lair. No-one had seen them leave the ballroom. No-one had seen him lift the sleeping girl into his arms. No-one had seen him make off with her, down once more, to his home. Clarette was still sleeping soundly. Her blue eyes, framed with their white eyelashes, were closed. Her pale creamy face was peaceful and silent, but emphasis was still put on her dimpled cheeks and pink puckered mouth. Erik stared at her little pointed chin and button nose, her clean-scrubbed face and curly golden hair that had mounted on his arms as he'd lifted her. 'Clarette,' he whispered, unknowingly synchronized with Raoul who was still running around the Opera House desperately. He lay the child down in the boat as he steered. He stared at her spread-eagled body and her wavy, golden waterfall of hair, liberated from the ribbon and flowing out freely, haloing her head. When they reached the water's edge he lowered her into his tangle of blankets that served as a bed, positioned directly at the rocky mouth of the cave. Light shimmered on the ceiling, reflected in the water. Miniature waterfalls were spat out of the mouths of stone statues and candelabras flickered and winked. Erik resumed his seat at the edge of the water, pondering and massaging his scalp with his hand. He remembered the last time Clarette had been in his arms; he'd dumped her on a doorstep and prayed for her end. Things would be different now. Clarette stirred in her sleep, perturbed by her unfamiliar bedding. Erik rushed to her side.

'Hello Clarette,' he whispered as she slowly awoke.

'M-monsieur?' she mumbled groggily as her eyelids flickered open and The Phantom snapped into focus. She sat up having regained consciousness. 'Where am I?!' she squeaked, her eyes darting around the lair. They settled on Erik and she recoiled in horror, scrambling out of bed backwards. She tipped off the sharp edge of the large rock, shrieked and fell hard on her backside. After a couple of seconds she began to cry. 'Papa!' she wailed, having noticed her hands were bleeding. _'PAPA!' _she screamed again in a full-blown sob. Her mouth was square, her face red and drool was running down her chin. 'Wh-r_am _I!' she cried. Erik jumped down and leant her his hand. The sobbing jittered to a surprised halt. Her eyes flicked from Erik to his hand and then back again. She thought for a minute, biting her lip, and let him help her up. He brushed down the dirt and rubble that had collected on her skirt and she watched in awe. Who was he? Why was she here? Where was her father? 'Papa,' she mumbled again and sniffed. Her pale eyelashes were stuck together with tears. Erik took out his hankie and wiped her snotty nose and watery eyes. Clarette was startled; a man she didn't even know was treating her in a very fatherly fashion. Although nervous, she lapped up the comfort of having an adult with her who obviously meant no harm. 'Monsieur…' her eyes crinkled in confusion and she reached up to touch his mask. Erik backed away rapidly, his hand to his face. 'I… I'm sorry,' Clarette jumped down from the rock and edged her way towards him. 'Are you a magician?' she breathed.

'Yes.' It was the same voice Clarette had heard singing to her in the ballroom. She beamed.

'You! You know Mama's special song! Do you know my Mama sir? Do you know where we are?' Phantom smiled, a quick, cold movement that visited his face and then left immediately.

'I have an idea child, yes. Mama's special song, is that what you call it?'

'Yes Sir.'

'Tell me Pet, can you sing?'

'I-I don't know sir.'

'Let me hear you,' Erik seated himself at the organ as Clarette blinked at him in confusion. 'Now girl, sing.' She remained silent. _'SING!' _Clarette jolted into action, opened her mouth and began to mumble the words of 'Think Of Me,' feeling rather intimidated. 'No, No, _no! _sing like you mean it! You sound awful! Try again!' Clarette felt her chin wobble uncontrollably. Her face crumpled and fat tears began to roll down her face. 'What is it!? Why are you crying!? Answer me!' Erik slammed his organ down and stood in front of his daughter, towering and terrifying, whilst she cowered at his feet. Suddenly she felt something warm and watery hit her leg and remembered she never went to the toilet. Luckily Erik did not notice.

'I… I want my Papa! I want to go, please sir, let me _go!'_ she sobbed.

'No! you will live with me from now on is that clear? I will train you to be as good a singer as Christine! You will _never _leave!'

'NO!' Clarette suddenly dived out of his path and ran off, scrambling over piles of music, disused candles and rocks. 'Papa! Help!'

'Come back here Clarette!' With only a few strides Phantom had the child in his grasp. He seized hold of her wrist and shook her like a rag doll. She looked up at him, terrified with her big blue eyes, trying to wriggle away.

_'PAPA!' _she screamed again. Erik's hand flew out and he slapped her hard across the face. She toppled backwards onto the floor, sending an avalanche of papers scattering in her wake. Her hair had fallen over her face, over her eyes, so she did not see Phantom leaning down after her. He lifted her up roughly, holding her body close to his. There was an audible crunching sound as he crushed her to his chest. She flailed out desperately, clenching his jacket and kicking his stomach. She reached a hand over his shoulder towards the lake. _'MAMA! PAPA!' _she wailed again, distraught and hysterical.

'So you want to see your Mama do you?!' Erik shook her hard, gripping her by the shoulders and staring her in the eyes.

'MMMM!' a throttled cry came from her throat as tears rolled down her cheeks and her large front tooth overlapped her lip. So childlike. So innocent. She nodded, causing her curls to bounce with her head.

'Mama is right here!' Erik flung back the covers of the swan-shaped bed. Clarette screamed. It was more than a scream. It was a scorching of the soul, a pain that rattled her nerves and struck fear right through to its core. Her legs flailed, her eyes bulged, she shook, she screamed, she arched her back in fear, thrashing out, her mouth flung open and became a red cavern of desperate, wasted noise; she looked upon the carcass of Meg Giry.


	8. the hall of mirrors

'Keep your hand at the level of your eyes!' Raoul warned, more out of habit than anything. Christine and her husband were pattering down the stone steps leading to Erik's lair. The last time he had been here, Raoul had been led by Madame Giry. 'Stop!' he hissed. Christine halted immediately.

'What, what is it?'

'A trap door. I fell down it when I came for you. Take my hand.' He edged past the large door, balancing on the small ledge that surrounded it.

'Wait!' Christine kicked off her heeled shoes and darted after Raoul, who was gripping her arm tightly. Tears continued to splash down her face. 'What if… what if someone's got her!?' she wailed.

'It's ok,' Raoul mumbled. 'They won't have.'

The two ran through the maze of stairs for what felt like an age, Raoul following, Christine behind. There were large gaps in between some of the steps, the whole structure heaving with rotting wood. Christine watched, unnerved, as small streams of water trickled down the side of the walls and moss collected at her feet. After travelling down the spiral staircase of flimsy wood for forty minutes, the couple finally reached a clearing. 'It's over this way, hurry!' Raoul snatched up Christine's hand and pushed his way through a kind of revolving door. In it was a large hall of mirrors. Christine's eyes darted around wildly in panic. 'It's ok,' he said reassuringly. 'Just follow me.' Christine obediently flattened herself against one of the walls. Raoul's hand crept along mirrors in front of him. They soon reached a dead end. Raoul changed direction, pulling Christine along with him. He threw down various objects in his path: a handkerchief, Clarette's ribbon, a sou. 'So we can find our way back,' he explained, oblivious to the fact that they might not _come _back. 'Here,' Raoul said, pushing against a mirror with the tips of his fingers. 'This might be it.' He gave the mirror a large slam with his fist and he and Christine tumbled out, landing on the cold damp floor. Raoul picked himself up immediately and pulled Christine up after him, brushing the dirt off her skirt like Erik had done with Clarette. 'Are you alright?' he asked apprehensively. Christine nodded slowly, taking in her surroundings. They were in a kind of hollow opening, rather like the chapel she used to visit to light a candle for her father. From above she could hear the faint tremolo of violins and the warbling voice of Carlotta.

'Where are we?' she whispered.

'We're below the stage.' Raoul lifted his head to face the leaking ceiling. 'This must have been where the phantom came to listen to you sing.' Christine remembered '_Think Of Me,'_ and imagined Erik lurking below her. She shuddered. 'It's just through here,' Raoul explained, pointing toward his left. Christine's feet were damp and cold, having left her shoes next to the trap door.

'Let's hurry,' she said, her voice echoing on the compressed walls of the cell-like room. 'I don't want Clarette to get into any more danger.' Before deciding to go down to the lair, the couple had searched each nook and cranny of the opera house three times over; either she was hiding down there alone, or someone had snatched her.

'Almost there…' Raoul whispered, still not letting go of his wife's hand. 'There!' he forced his way through a heavy oak door which led to The Phantom's river. Balancing there was a small dock of boats. Shivering, Christine noticed how well kept the boats looked and wondered if Erik really was dead. Raoul had other things on his mind. 'Keep an eye out Christine,' he ordered sharply. 'She could have fallen out of one of the boats.' Momentarily forgetting about her curiosities, Christine leaned over the side of the boat whilst Raoul steered.

'Clarette darling,' she whispered soothingly.

'Clarette!' Raoul echoed. They heard a faint mumble from the other side of the cave. Raoul remembered what Rosie had said and began to steer faster. It sounded like… crying. 'Clarette, are you here?' There was another faint mumble. After being repeated twice the faint mumble was recognized as the word

'Papa!'

'Clarette!' The two spoke together at the same time.

'Mama! Papa!' having not turned a corner they did not see Clarette. Or Erik. There was an angry voice towering over Clarette's weak one and the couple froze.

'Cla-Clarette!?' Christine shouted. She scrambled forwards to the edge of the boat as Raoul turned a corner.

'MAMA!' Clarette had begun to cry and Christine soon saw why. The Opera ghost had hold of her hair and was yanking her upright by it. His eyes locked on Christine; he grinned coldly.


	9. Till death do us part

Once again, Erik lifted Clarette into his arms and laid her down on his bed. She had fainted. Whilst she was unconscious, he had cleaned and bandaged her hands that had been cut during her fall. Erik stormed over to his usual seat by the river, tapping his foot it time with the splashing of the waterfalls. Why did he have to scare the child so? Why did he always approach things wrongly? He slammed his fist down in frustration, adding to the pile of music that had slipped during Clarette's fall. The first time in five years he sees his daughter and he kidnaps her, slaps her across the face and makes her faint with horror? He buried his face in his hands and reflected on what he had just done. All he wanted was to make her sing well; he could teach her so much! He would be such a brilliant father. He would care for her and comfort her when she was scared. He would nurture her talent, he would teach her to dance _and _sing, allow her to mold in melodic movement to his music. He would let her grow and adapt to singing, to her new surroundings, until singing was like a first language to her. After half-an-hour Clarette began to stir again. Erik heaved himself off of the small stone platform and went to join her. 'I'm sorry,' he said immediately after her eyes had snapped open.

'Y-you!' she began to shake again, clutching the sheets of her makeshift bed. 'No! Don't hurt me! Don't hit me again!' she threw the blanket over her head as if it would supply some kind of protection against The Phantom Of The Opera.

'I won't,' he said hoarsely. 'I can explain, please, I never meant to hurt you,' Clarette slowly lowered the blanket off her head and looked him in the eyes. 'I never… meant to…' his voice trailed off. 'Listen to me Angel. Listen to me please.' Clarette blinked, startled. How could this man change his moods so quickly? 'Could I tell you a story my child?' Clarette considered, not knowing what to say.

'Ermm…'

'Please?' she nodded her head. Erik smiled, tucking a golden curl behind her ear. She flinched. 'It started years ago,' Erik began. 'It was the wedding of Raoul De Changey and Christine Daae.'

'Mama and Papa?'

'Yes. I was the organist. Your mother she… I loved your mother. Christine, that is. I planned to bring her home with me but she swooned and it was Raoul who saved her, not me.' Erik leaned on the organ. 'I was all set to leave; I would get Christine one day… but there was another woman. Her name was Meg Giry. I saw her helping a young girl out of the pews…. Rosie, you know her… and… she was so beautiful… so beautiful…' he crumbled to the floor.

'What did she look like?' Erik spun round to face his daughter.

'She had golden hair and blue eyes… just like-' He reached out to touch Clarette's face. 'Anyway. I decided to help her. She was so grateful she said that she wanted to come home with me; I guess it was love at first sight. I told her to wait for me and threatened the girl… Rosie… with my knife. That's how she got that pretty little scar of hers.' Clarette gasped.

'It was _you!_ But she always said it was-'

'A piece of rubble? Yes. That's what everyone believed anyway; no one seemed to think it strange that a piece of rubble could mark a girl with such a neat, deep cut. No-one questioned the fact that she was the last out of the church. No-one. I had fun with my dear Rosie; she was so easy to torment, so young, so vulnerable. I regret it now of course.' Erik stood up and began pacing. Clarette stared at the floor, her heart thumping. It was so much to take in. 'Meg and I fell in love quickly. We were both recluses. There was more to my Meg that met the eye; people thought her a simple chorus girl, but she wasn't. She was beautiful and talented… she could dance so well,' he shook his head. 'We were informally married. Down here. It was a wonderful day. I loved her so much… and she loved me! Oh, how happy we were! When she declared that she was pregnant I… I was happy, but scared too. I was no _father_. When Meg went into labor I broke down. She was losing blood… there was no-one to help us… It was all my fault. I was worried about them taking her… taking her away! I would have died without my Meg! Till death do us part… but…' he was on the brink of bursting into tears. Glancing over at the swan bed. Clarette shuddered, remembering. 'But it didn't!' He gulped back large sobs and managed to contain himself. 'After the child was born, my daughter, I felt like I couldn't look after her. I blamed her. So, I left her on the doorstep of Raoul De Changey and Christine and well… that little girl grew…' Clarette's eyes widened. He stared into them steadily. 'You're that little girl… _my _little girl.' At first she didn't say anything. Then she turned her back on Erik. 'Listen to me please! I'm your Papa!'

'I know!' she whispered, tears streaming down her face. 'That's why I'm crying!'

'Clarette I love you! Please!' Erik began to cry. Clarette turned to him and stroked his face with her hand. Her gentle, chubby baby hand. Without even knowing entirely what she was doing, Clarette tightened her fingers around the Phantom's mask and she gently pulled it off. Her face did not change. She stroked his unmasked cheek.

'Don't cry Papa,' she whispered. She had never seen a man cry before; she only called him Papa because she felt she had to. 'I'm here,' she threw her small arms around him and hugged his limp body until she felt his arms snake around her. In reality the girl was a little scared, a little unsure. All she knew was that this man thought he was her Papa and that he could get very angry. There was also a part of her that was pained to see this person cry. All of a sudden there was a faint noise drifting from across the river. She noticed it as Raoul's voice 'Papa!' she called, wriggling out of Erik's grasp and dashing along to the river's edge. 'Papa, Papa!'

'No Clarette, I'm your Papa,' Erik insisted, picking himself up. Clarette continued like she hadn't heard.

'Papa! I'm here!'

'Clarette! What did I just say?!' Phantom heaved himself over to the girl. 'Look at me!' Clarette did not move.

'Papa!' she called again.

'I said _LOOK AT ME!'_ Erik seized a large lock of her hair and pulled her backwards by it. She screamed, knocking over a candelabra as the skin on her scalp was yanked savagely. He twisted her head to face him, causing multiple curls of hair to fall over his arm and some to fall out onto the floor.

'Let go!' Clarette shrieked, her hands flying to her head and trying to loosen his grip. Phantom wasn't looking at her. He was looking at her parents steering one of his boats.


	10. The final threshold!

'Well, I think my dear, we have a guest!' Erik gouged his skeleton-like fingers deep into Clarette's scalp, causing her to cry out.

'MAMA!'

'Let her go!' it was Raoul. He jerked his head aside having seen Phantom's face and said in an undertone 'Jesus _Christ!' _Christine was obviously startled by the phantom's presence, her had spinning on itself in an almost drunken manner in an attempt not to swoon. 'Let our daughter go!' Raoul repeated, towing the boat up to shore.

'She is not _your_ daughter, she is mine!' Raoul fought the temptation to roll his eyes and simply repeated himself for the third time.

'Let her GO!' Erik obediently released her hair causing the small child to fall hard on the stone floor, her head banging sharply on the edge of a rock.

'PAPA!' she cried, heaving herself upright on her bandaged hands. Raoul's face softened at the sight of the girl running towards him and he knelt down, his arms outstretched. Christine was still sitting, almost paralyzed in the boat. All of a sudden Erik was clawing at the back of Clarette's dress, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. Raoul barely noticed him tug down a lever causing a large metal gate to cut between the two, leaving Clarette and Phantom on one side and Raoul and Christine stranded on the other. 'No!' Raoul cried. Christine jerked into action.

'No!' she echoed. Clarette made and inaudible sound; a mixture between a cry and a shriek that could have also translated into _'No!'_

'Yes!' Erik cackled, the hideous side of his face exposed to Clarette. There was a glint in his eye, controlling, menacing.

'Erik, let her go!'

'No! I am her father!' he spat.

'Erik, don't be ridiculous; we are her parents! We-' Raoul was cut short, remembering the day Clarette was left on their doorstep.

'You may have raised her but I gave life to her… Meg Giry and I gave life to her!' Christine clapped a hand to her mouth but Raoul was less believing.

'Don't be ridiculous!'

'It's true! She's mine, so you can't take her away! You can't take her away!' it soon became a maddening mumble: _'you can't take her away!'_ Clarette began to wonder if Erik was talking about her or Meg Giry.

'Erik. She is not your child,' Raoul said surprisingly softly, like he almost felt sorry for the repulsive creature. 'She is ours.'

'No. I left her on the doorstep that day; I knew nobody else who I could trust. I knew the girl would be safe in your hands,' he pointed towards Raoul. 'You sir. You had money. Christine was such a loving person who would make a loving mother and I thought that an infant would strive in your care more than it would mine…' Raoul was silent. He did not even prompt Erik with a _'don't be ridiculous!' _He was merely silent. Christine looked up at him, shaking, as if wanting him to tell her otherwise. He was silent. And then he spoke.

'So it's true,' he said hoarsely.

'Yes.' Something cold shot through Raoul.

'Still, you must give the child back to us Erik! We love her dearly and you can't look after her!' Christine pushed forward, forcing a hand through the bars.

'I_ can_ look after her!'

'I'll do anything!' Erik had noticed Christine's sizeable cleavage jut up to the bars with her. He grinned coldly.

'I don't love you!'

'_Please!'_

'No. If you leave now you might be able to leave with your lives. Now go.' Christine sobbed. Raoul screamed. Erik laughed and cried and screamed with small intervals between each mood swing. Clarette sat silently, staring at the three adults with an all-knowing look in her eyes; it was almost vice-versa. She scrambled to her feet at the sight of Erik taking a large, twisted rope in his hands.

'What's that?' she asked, panicked. Erik said nothing. 'What's _that_?' she chased after him into the water, standing knee-deep behind him. In another moment hast Erik had yanked the large gate open and pulled Christine through it. Before Raoul could join his wife and child the gate had come down yet again, leaving Raoul alone on the other side.

'NO!' he slammed a hand up against the bars, trying to reach through to Christine.

'Mama!' Clarette called, and received a kick in the stomach that seemed to come from nowhere. She screamed, falling backwards into the water. With her eyes and mouth closed she could only feel her hair gliding across her face and could only hear the shouts of angry voices. As soon as she'd opened her mouth water had begun to shoot through her body, filling up her lungs like ash in a vase. Water swilled in her ears and her legs flailed. Feeling at the brink of death she was heaved out of the water by strong arms. She coughed and spluttered, her clothes and hair plastered to her body and the water in her dress dragging her down. Through her blurry vision she could make out her mother. 'Mama?' her eyes adjusted to the dry light of the cave and she saw that Christine was tied to the gate, the strange twisted rope looped around her slender neck and her arms and waist strung up with rope. Tears were streaming down her face. 'Mama! I-' Clarette surged forward only to find that she was being stopped by some force that had hold of her arm. Erik.

'Let me go!'

'No!' he shook the young child roughly, holding no impact on her limp curls.

'I'm not afraid of you!' Clarette lifted up her arm and snapped if cleanly free of Erik's grasp. 'Mama!' she called again. She had not considered the impact that the water could have had on her stride. It was like wading through treacle. Her legs almost buckled at the extreme force of the water and she was soon wrenched backwards by Erik. He yanked a handful of her rat-tailed hair once more and twisted at her head. In the distance she could hear screams of protest from Christine and Raoul.

'You will stay with-' he was cut short thanks to Clarette spitting in his face. He wrung her again, slapped her, shook her and tugged at her hair, but Clarette simply stared at him with a look of endurance and disgust. Out of breath, Erik pushed Clarette backwards and went to sit by the river. She stared at her mother; Christine's porcelain-like arms looked out of place entwined with the large rough rope. The noose had scraped along the length of her neck and left a trail of pink, upturned skin in its path. Raoul was breathing heavily by her side, his fists clenched. He sneaked a hand through the bars and threaded his fingers with Christine's, trying to comfort her. Clarette turned. She looked at Erik. Her father. She stood up. She edged towards his seat by the river.

_'Pitiful creature of darkness…'_ Erik's face was turned away and he was folding something in his hand, wrapping it around his fingers over and over again. _'Though you're bad in what you do…'_ as she drew nearer she noticed it was a blue hair ribbon that he was sifting through his fingers. She continued to sing, full of a maturity that is rarely found in a young child and sure in what she was about to do. _'You_ _will al-ways be my fath-er…'_ Clarette was standing beside Erik now, watching his furrowed brow and tormented eyes. '_And I still, love, you!' _

She flung her arms around Erik's neck, startling him. In a moment of instability he pulled away; then drew himself closer immediately and flung his arms around her. He did not notice she was dripping wet. She did not notice his elbow jabbing at her. The two simply held each other, the small things virtually unnoticeable, father and daughter locked together in a loving embrace, a yearning, an emptiness fulfilled with the comfort of each other. Erik's eyes softened. His face relaxed. He stroked Clarette's heavily hanging hair and kissed the crown of her head gently, the other hand rubbing circles into her back. Erik had been unsure in what he said or did with his daughter. Now he was completely sure. Everything came to him naturally; the way he sat, the way he wrapped himself around her, the closeness of their bodies he had to maintain whilst still leaving her space to breath and the soft placing of his hands. Clarette pulled him closer, genuine love for the man evident in her facial expressions. She was smiling , although a tear leaked from her eye as the two hugged. No-one knew how long they embraced for. It could have been for ten seconds or ten minutes. No matter how long it was for, a surge of extreme love and warmth passed through them. Eventually they pulled apart. Both were soaked in tears. Erik stood up, crying in great sobs, and backed away.

'Go,' he whispered. 'GO!' It was a scream now. Clarette didn't hesitate. She seized hold of Erik's knife, put it between her teeth and waded into the water. By the time she had reached the gate she was sagging a little, only to be revived by Raoul who pulled her upright, took the knife and began to saw through Christine's ropes. She fell into the water as soon as she broke free, weak with fear and relief. Clarette splashed her way through the lake, pulled the metal lever and watched as the gate was yanked open. Raoul dove under the water for Christine and lifted her up to his chest. Her head lolled and then rested on his shoulder.

'Clarette!' he called. After laying down Christine in the rowing boat he lifted Clarette up into his arms, peppering her face with kisses. She heard a cry of agony from Erik.

_'GO!' _he sobbed, his face in his hands, rocking backwards and forwards like a child. Once Clarette was safely anchored on Raoul's hip he darted towards the rowing boat and lay her down next to Christine.

'Clarette,' Christine mumbled weakly, lifting a hand to her daughter's face.

'Mama!' Clarette wrapped her arms around Christine's waist, jolting her lifeless, rag-doll body. Raoul padded over to join them, seized the large pole and prepared to steer the trio away.

* * *

'I still have you!' Erik whispered, smiling tearfully. He looked over at the swan-shaped bed, Meg's skeleton concealed underneath. 'You'll never leave me!' He stood up and slowly drew back the red velvet covers of the bed. There was a small rustling noise behind him. He turned. It was Clarette. He fell to his knees. His young daughter merely drifted past him. He felt her hand brush his cheek, soft as a butterfly's wing, and he leaned ever so slightly into the touch. Then it was gone.

10 years later

Construction men work at the Opera Populaire in Paris, France. While they are working, they find two skeletons intertwined underneath the covers of a swan-shaped bed. One of the men attempts to lift the skeletons but as they jostle together they crumble into dust. Lying underneath the ashes of a deceased finger is a small blue ribbon.

THE END.

**Did you enjoy? Thank you very much for reading my story, I appreciate it! Yeah, I kind of maybe stole the ending from the Gaston Leroux novel… and Victor Hugo's 'The Hunchback Of Notredame'… but hey, they're two of my favorite authors! Please write any reviews or comments (advice would be appreciated,) and I would happily accept requests. THANK YOU! **

**By totalphangirl. **


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